


Fic: All I Want For Christmas Is You (NC-17)

by tuesdaysgone



Series: Teacherverse [1]
Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-22
Updated: 2009-12-22
Packaged: 2017-10-18 09:05:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/187249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tuesdaysgone/pseuds/tuesdaysgone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Frank is ranting again.  Gerard tunes in from a distracted study of the hair curling at the nape of Frank’s neck and realizes he’s missed about half a train of thought.  "I'm just saying," Frank continues, waving around a stack of lined paper like a flag, "they can barely call it the English department anymore, if this is the kind of thing the kids are writing for their other classes. I don't think this sentence even has a verb in it."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fic: All I Want For Christmas Is You (NC-17)

  
Frank/Gerard, 4447 words, NC-17. Warnings: Schmoop, Star Wars references, excessive descriptions of winter weather.

Frank is ranting again. Gerard tunes in from a distracted study of the hair curling at the nape of Frank’s neck and realizes he’s missed about half a train of thought. "I'm just saying," Frank continues, waving around a stack of lined paper like a flag, "they can barely call it the English department anymore, if this is the kind of thing the kids are writing for their other classes. I don't think this sentence even has a verb in it." He is tipped back in a chair in the teacher's lounge, worn Chucks propped on the table in front of him, cardigan sleeves pushed up to show off part of his tattoo collection. Bill Beckett from the English department is across the room, glaring over the top of an Ayn Rand novel, but Frank is oblivious. Or he doesn't care. From the glint in his eye, Gerard sort of suspects it's the latter.

"I wouldn't know," Gerard says carefully. "There aren't a lot of written assignments in art class."

"Lucky you," Frank says, popping a coffee stirrer into his mouth and chewing ferociously. Gerard feels his own nicotine cravings stir just watching him, and he picks at a few spots of dried paint on the backs of his hands. There are three more periods to go.

Gerard slumps in his own chair, sipping his lukewarm coffee. The pot's just across the room, but he's too tired to go get a refill. The 10th graders were doing pop art last period. He thinks the janitor is probably going to kill him later. Frank has let the front legs of his chair clunk back to the floor, pulled his glasses out of his shirt pocket, and gone back to grading. The paper he's working on looks like someone let Jackson Pollock loose on it. Gerard taps his fingers on the table absently till Frank reaches over and presses his fingers flat against the table. He draws a cranky-looking red pen ghost on the back of Gerard’s hand. His fingers are icy, and Gerard wonders if Frank's getting sick again.

"Coffee?" Gerard asks, and Frank hums distractedly for a moment before answering.

"Yeah, sure. I don't want to fall asleep on this awesome summary of the War of 1812." He makes a face, and Gerard laughs and gets up to refill both of their mugs.

"Isn't it a little late in the year for the War of 1812?" Gerard says as he nudges Frank's Transformers mug against the side of his hand. He's not sure why he even knows that, except that he's been listening to Frank talk about his lesson plans for the past three years now, and, well, he's pretty sure if Frank had been his social studies teacher, he wouldn't have gotten C's.

"Midterm prep," Frank mumbles around a slurp of coffee. "Fuck, that's hot!" he curses, sucking in a big breath. His lips are shiny, and Gerard tries not to stare. Maybe he would have gotten those C's after all.

Hanging out with Frank is a little like torture sometimes. He's sort of had a crush on him since he had to cover one of his classes and found a small army of Star Wars figurines acting out the battle of Little Round Top on the bookcase at the back of his classroom. Gerard hadn't known it was Little Round Top, of course; but that had been the first thing Frank had said when he walked back into the classroom, juggling a coffee carrier and a messenger bag.

"Little Round Top," Frank had mumbled around the keychain clutched in his teeth. Once he'd spit it out onto his desk, he continued, "Boba Fett is Joshua Chamberlain. Oh, here. I brought you coffee. Thanks for covering, dude."

The coffee had really been the tipping point, but Gerard had pretty much already been a goner.

So, here they were, three years later. Gerard sips coffee from his favorite mug, the one that proclaims "The End Is Nigh" on the bottom, and wonders if he's missed some sort of window for flirting somewhere along the line between that first cup of coffee and this one. He's got a two-week winter break to mull it over, if he doesn't do anything soon.

Call him crazy, but he doesn't really want to spend a two-week break grading pop art and drinking coffee by himself. Again.

*

The next day, they’re in pretty much the same seats at pretty much the same time. It’s a big improvement over last year, when they didn’t have any of the same planning periods. Frank’s still grading papers, and he’s got spatters of red from his pen smudged on his fingers. Gerard is, as always, covered in paint. The only thing that’s different today is that instead of Bill they’ve got Bob Bryar, the band teacher, sitting across the room tapping out a cadence on the arm of the couch.

Frank looks up, studying Gerard while absently biting the end of his pen. “You going this weekend?” he asks finally.

Gerard tilts his head and frowns. “Going to what?”

“Shit, dude,” Frank laughs. “You’re going to be in so much trouble if your forgot your brother’s – “

“Concert,” Gerard finishes with a groan. “Fuck. No, I didn’t forget.”

“I don’t believe you.” Frank’s eyes are twinkling.

“How could I forget something called 98.5’s Rockin’ Holly Day? I just…forgot it was this weekend,” he adds lamely, and Frank giggles.

“So you’ll be there?”

“Yeah.” Gerard nods. His face feels hot. He forgets sometimes that Frank’s friends with his brother, that Mikey and Frank have entire conversations that don’t involve Gerard. Then Frank will just appear places, looking like a different person in his horror movie tees and ripped jeans. It takes Gerard by surprise every time.

Frank’s watching him with a strange sort of half-smile, red pen loose in his fingers. Gerard bites his lip and looks away, reaching for a section of the paper someone left strewn over the table. Doesn’t mean anything.

Before Gerard knows it, it’s Saturday night, and he’s running late to the concert. First, because he forgot his ticket and had to turn around. Second, because he was down to two cigarettes. Now, he’s slinking through the door, second – maybe third – opener in full swing onstage, and he’s scanning the place for a familiar face. He gets one, too, in the form of a sweaty body slamming up into his side. “Hey,” says Frank. He’s grinning, and he presses a bottle of water against Gerard’s neck.

Gerard only jumps a little. “I just got here,” he says when Frank passes the bottle over.

“You’ll need it before long. Never seen this many people in here.”

It’s packed, all right. Mikey – wherever he is – must be psyched. Frank hasn’t actually moved away from Gerard yet, just twisted himself back around so he can chug his beer and watch the stage, and still shout into Gerard’s ear. That’s how Mikey finds them, plastered together in a back corner, and he lifts an eyebrow at Gerard, who flips him off with the hand out of Frank’s line of sight. “Having a good time?” Mikey asks.

“Yeah, dude. I was just telling Gerard about these guys, how they got tapped to tour with the Souls next spring.” Frank’s talking a mile a minute, but he interrupts himself mid-sentence, patting down his pockets and swearing. “Shit, I’m out of smokes.” He bats his eyes at Gerard, who laughs.

“Let’s go outside.” Mikey, because he’s an asshole, makes meaningful eyebrow wiggles at Gerard and at Frank’s retreating back. Gerard flips him off for real this time, but the bastard just laughs and heads back up to the DJ booth, where some friend of his with a striped beanie and too many teeth is bouncing along with the band.

It’s freezing outside. The snow from earlier in the day has stopped, but a few pathetic snowflakes are still swirling down from the roofs of the buildings. Frank takes a cigarette from Gerard and fumbles in the pockets of his North Face jacket for his lighter till Gerard clicks his in front of Frank’s face, and Frank leans in for a light. “Thanks,” he mumbles around the filter. They smoke in silence for a minute or two, huddled into their jackets like birds, watching kids in weather-inappropriate clothing straggle out the side door of the club.

“We’re getting old,” Gerard says, and Frank laughs, smoke trickling out of the corner of his mouth.

“Speak for yourself.” Frank likes to rub in the age difference sometimes, like four years makes Gerard a senior citizen or something. But he always does it with a shit-eating grin, and so Gerard just shakes his head and changes the subject.

“No, I mean…I think I had some of those kids in Independent Study last year.” He waves vaguely in the direction of inside.

“But you’re still having fun, right?” Frank lets his cigarette butt fall to the ground and grinds it out against the stained concrete. Gerard blinks a few times and it seems like Frank’s creeping closer.

“Yeah,” he answers, reaching out to pat Frank’s shoulder awkwardly. His hand slips off the nylon and down Frank’s back, and Frank steps into the circle of his arm instead of away, and suddenly he’s close enough that Gerard can see the flecks of gold in his irises, and he’s reaching up towards Gerard’s face and Gerard freezes. Frank’s plucking the cigarette butt out from between Gerard’s lips. He’s sure the next thing that will happen will be a kiss, feels it in his chest, in his throat, in his frozen fingertips, but there’s a burst of yelling and feedback as the door swings open again, and the next thing Gerard knows Frank’s a step away, flicking Gerard’s cigarette butt down the sidewalk and wrapping a hand around Gerard’s wrist.

“Come on,” he says. “I know a guy in this next band, we can’t miss ‘em.” Gerard might be imagining things, but he thinks Frank sounds subdued. He doesn’t let go of Gerard’s wrist till they have to shrug out of their coats, but Gerard can feel the imprint of his fingers clear through the next set.

Gerard is still brooding about the concert on Monday morning as he sorts supplies in his classroom before school. They called a two-hour delay this morning, but Gerard lives so close to the school that he'd barely looked twice at his snow-covered car before just tugging on a pair of combat boots and walking in. He scratches notes onto a post-it as he digs through his supply closet, singing along to the Smashing Pumpkins under his breath. He's getting low on pre-stretched canvases, and the fountain pen inks are getting all crusty.

"Knock knock," says a voice behind him, and Gerard just barely manages not to knock over a box of Elmer's glue. He turns around carefully, and a few easels rattle ominously but nothing falls. It's Frank, of course, smirking cheerfully at him - and holding two giant Starbucks cups, which totally makes up for the smirking. Gerard immediately holds out his hands toward one of the cups, and Frank takes a step back. "How do you know one of these is for you?" he asks mildly.

"Because waving Starbucks around and taking it away again would be cruel, and you're not that much of an asshole?" Gerard answers hopefully.

"Ah, a complete sentence. You've obviously already had coffee today."

"That doesn't mean I don't want more," Gerard huffs, making a grab for one of the cups. Frank pulls it back, laughing at the face Gerard makes, then presents the one from his other hand.

"This one's yours." He walks back into Gerard's classroom and hops up onto one of the tables, feet swinging lazily as he takes a swig from his own cup. "You're here early," he says.

"Eh, you know. Things to do. Plus, people bring me coffee here." He leans against the doorframe and sips his own drink. It's exactly how he likes it. He could replicate Frank's coffee order from memory, too, without even reading the markings on the side of the cup, and that more than anything else is what drives him crazy. He wouldn't want to not be friends with Frank, but each day that passes makes it seem woefully inadequate that there's nothing more.

Frank, meanwhile, is taking dramatic offense to Gerard "using me for my apartment's proximity to Starbucks," but he can't do it with a straight face, so Gerard just throws a handful of paint sponges at him. Frank looks like he's bracing to launch himself off the tabletop, and it's not that Gerard has any real objection to a retaliatory armful of Frank, but he does have an objection to impalement by easel, so he jumps in with a distraction.

"Smoke break?" he suggests, digging out a crumpled pack and waving it at Frank. "Except I don't think they plowed out that loading dock by the shop classes, so we're gonna have to make it fast before the kids start arriving."

Frank shakes his head sadly. "How have you taught here for five years and not figured out a backup smoking spot?" He picks Gerard's jacket up off the back of his chair and tosses it in his direction. "Come on, padawan."

This time, Gerard's pretty sure Frank's the one tuning out Gerard's rant about how he isn't a padawan, and who was the one who got lost three times on the way to the print center "every year, Frank, not just your first year!" Also something about George Lucas screwing up continuity, which even Gerard sort of tunes out because it's not like he hasn't said the same thing a time or twenty. But it's okay, because Frank is leading him out a side door and through the slush, around the corner of the maintenance garage, which is...wow. Helpfully L-shaped, which provides both a windbreak and a shield from the student entrances. "Huh," says Gerard intelligently.

Frank laughs at him and shakes out two cigarettes, passing one over. "Told ya." They smoke in silence for a minute, then Frank coughs, ashes his cigarette into a puddle, and says, "So, Saturday."

Gerard inhales a little suddenly, which is totally the reason his voice goes all breathy. "What about it?" Frank's making him a bit nervous, all of a sudden. Gerard focuses on the slightly crooked knot of Frank's tie, and so the fingers on his chin are a little bit of a surprise.

"I feel like we got interrupted, that's all. Don't you?" With Frank's fingers tilting his face, he's got no choice but to look Frank in the eyes. They're intent, the way Gerard's seen them get a few times; at a really good essay, at a guitar solo. At Gerard on Saturday night.

"Yes?" Gerard's pretty sure the answer to that one should be a yes.

"Okay then," Frank says softly, and he leans in to brush their lips together. Gerard's helpless, a cigarette in one hand and his coffee in the other, he can only manage a wondering little gasp, opening his mouth to Frank. Frank's fingers are firm at his jaw, holding his head still for his leisurely exploration, and Gerard finally tosses the cigarette - never sacrifice the coffee - into a puddle and snakes his freed hand into Frank's hair, pulling him closer with a frustrated whine. Frank laughs into Gerard's mouth, the sound dying with a choked gasp as Gerard bites his lip.

When they finally pull apart, panting a little, Frank tips his forehead against Gerard's and repeats, "Okay?"

Yeah, that's definitely a yes.

Frank beams at him the whole way back inside, till Gerard really wants to tug him into the nearest janitor's closet or something. But he's still on the janitor's shit list for the Paint Incident last week - it was just acrylic paint, for crying out loud, that shit cleaned up with water, Gerard wasn't a total idiot - so he doesn't, just grabs Frank's hand surreptitiously at the turnoff to the social studies wing and says, "Hey, see you later?" He can't keep the smile out of his voice.

"Just try to get rid of me," Frank replies, running his fingers up the inside of Gerard's arm before pulling away.

Unfortunately, that's the last thing Frank says to him all day. Shortened schedule days are insane anyway, and Gerard has to cover for Mr. Russell, the photography teacher, who's stuck at some airport halfway across the country, and he'd promised Bob that he'd help with the jazz band's holiday concert, so he doesn't even get home until almost ten. He fishes his cell phone out of his pocket, scrolling down to the listing for "Frankenstein". When Frank picks up, he sounds sleepy. "Hey," Gerard says. "You're not getting sick again, are you?"

"Nah," yawns Frank. "You looked out your back windows yet?" Gerard frowns. What a weird question. He pads into his kitchen and peers out the back window, and he's not sure what he's looking at, at first. Then he realizes -

"You shoveled out my car?" he asks incredulously.

"On my way home. Then I did my neighbor's driveway - you know, Mrs. Gianni?"

"With the cannoli?" She's a tiny and deeply scary Italian lady who makes the best pastries in the county.

Frank chuckles. "Yeah. Don't worry, she sent home enough baked goods to feed an army. But it took me hours, man, all this shit is starting to ice over."

"You shoveled out my car." Gerard feels it bears repeating.

"Yeah, well, it's your turn to bring me coffee." Frank laughs at himself, punctuating it with another giant yawn.

"Frank." Gerard rolls his eyes fondly, torn in several different directions. He isn't sure what to say. "You should go to bed," he finishes lamely.

"It's no fun by myself."

Lame, and turned on. Okay then. "I...yeah. I know," he whispers.

"For the record, I would have been in favor of the janitor's closet," Frank murmurs.

Gerard waits a moment. "I'll keep it in mind. 'Night, Frank."

“Night.”

*

School is cancelled Tuesday on account of a thick layer of ice that has settled all over the entire tri-state area. Gerard barely mumbles his way through the two calls that comprise his part of the phone tree, but he's jolted awake again before the watery gray morning decides what kind of weather it's going to provide by the insistent snapping of the iced-over tree branches outside his bedroom window. Lying there in a mound of blankets is nice, but all Gerard can think about is that a cancellation means he won't get to see Frank today, and that's just - not acceptable. And that's when he gets a crazy idea.

He dresses warmly, even pulling on the skeleton gloves he's pretty sure actually belonged to Frank at some point. His Subaru may be a piece of crap, but it's a piece of crap with all wheel drive, and Frank doesn't really live that far away. When he's out on the road with the unfortunates slipping and sliding their way to work, he panics a little. But only a little. Once the cardboard carrier is nestled on the passenger seat, wafting steam and promising caffeine, he feels better. Who says no to coffee?

It takes Frank a minute or two to respond to the knock on his apartment door, and when he does, he's wearing sweats and a holey Jawbreaker tee. His hair is standing practically on end, and he looks confused. Then a giant grin breaks across his face. "You brought me coffee," he rasps incredulously, and Gerard nods. "Shit, come in. What, are you insane? It's like a skating rink out there!"

"It's not that bad," Gerard says. "You know the district is just chickenshit about sending the buses out." He hands the coffee to Frank and shrugs out of his coat, scarf, and gloves, tossing them on a chair. Frank's already sipping his own, studying Gerard over the white plastic top.

"You came over," he muses. "With coffee. And we have a snow day."

"Ice day," Gerard corrects distractedly, because - why? Because Frank is watching him like he wants to - eat him up, or something, and it's making concentration impossible.

"What the fuck ever day. A day. In which we do not have to go to work. Or anywhere. Except you came here."

"It seemed like a good idea at the time," Gerard murmurs.

"Oh, it was. Is." Frank sets his cup aside, stalks closer. "Let me tell you how good of an idea it was." He's grinning that shit-eating grin again and Gerard feels the same expression creeping across his own face.

"Tell me, or demonstrate? I'm feeling like I should maybe put my coffee down for this." He does it anyway without waiting for an answer, and it's a good thing, because the next thing that happens is that Frank's pressed against him, and he's pressed against the living room wall.

"I'm a demonstration kind of guy," Frank tells him, biting at his neck. Frank is _biting_ him, and obviously he's been paying attention to Gerard's kinks over the years, Jesus Christ.

“I’m okay with that,” Gerard gasps, running his hands over Frank’s chest. “Shit. I would have been okay with that three years ago,” he babbles, tilting his head so Frank can suck harder at the skin under his ear.

“I didn’t know,” Frank murmurs. “At first I figured you were just being nice to the new guy. And then…it just wasn’t ever the right time, you know? You don’t go out with us all that often. And I can’t really do this in the teacher’s lounge.”

“Janitor’s closet. On my fucking desk, with the door locked,” Gerard tells him, yanking on his hair to pull his mouth back into range.

“Mm, you’ve been thinking about this,” Frank chuckles, pulling away to tug his shirt over his head, and sticking his hands back underneath Gerard’s.

“Three years,” Gerard repeats, hissing as Frank traces fingernails up and down his ribs.

“Yeah, well, me too.” Frank manages to wrestle Gerard’s hoodie and t-shirt over his head and promptly attacks the fastening of his jeans.

Gerard puts his hands over Frank’s. “Hey. You know what else I thought about? Your bedroom.”

“I have one. It’s right over there.” Frank lets go of the stubborn button to steer, and when they’re in the middle of the bedroom floor, he attacks the jeans again, huffing with satisfaction when he gets the button and zip undone. Gerard echoes with a gasp that’s stifled by Frank’s lips when Frank’s hand slips down the front of his jeans, cupping him through his briefs. He’s so hard, probably has been since his back hit the wall in the living room, and right now all he wants is naked skin. He lets go of Frank’s wrists and pushes impatiently at the waistband of his sweats. He’s not wearing underwear, and Gerard groans a little at the sight of Frank’s cock, flushed and ready, and even more when Frank pulls their hips together, hands skating up Gerard’s naked back to tangle in his hair.

Frank’s legs hit the mattress and he tumbles, pulling Gerard down with him. Gerard catches himself with a bracing knee and hand, straddling Frank’s hips and sliding a hand up the middle of Frank’s chest. He traces along the edges of a few tattoos, carefully skirting Frank’s nipple and laughing when Frank’s hips buck up impatiently. “We have all day,” he says.

“Fuck you, all day. Three years.” He pulls Gerard back down so he can lick into his mouth again, muttering encouragement as Gerard flexes his hips and lines their cocks up together. Gerard relents and reaches in between their bodies, rubbing his palm around in slow, teasing circles over the head of Frank’s cock and his own before wrapping his fingers around them both. It’s hot and tight and just this side of too-dry, even with the pre-come slicking the skin, and it’s possibly the best thing Gerard’s felt in a long time. Frank, too, if the bitten lip and muttered swear words are any indication.

Gerard pulls his mouth away to gasp for air, pressing his forehead against the curve of his shoulder and breathing a few humid breaths into the side of his neck. Frank’s fingers are still locked in Gerard’s hair, and he’s gasping increasingly erratically into Gerard’s ear. Finally, he stiffens, arching up into Gerard’s body as he comes, and the warm, wet pulse has scarcely died down before he’s reaching down, hand slipping through his own come and their mingled sweat to wrap around Gerard’s, matching Gerard’s strokes, and that’s all Gerard needs to follow him down.

It takes a while for their breathing to settle down to something normal, and in the meantime Frank rolls Gerard a little to the side and tugs a blanket over them. Gerard would happily not move for the rest of the day. Week, possibly. But he knows Frank, and so he isn’t surprised when, after a little while, Frank kisses his neck and pads off to the bathroom. He’s unconcernedly naked, and Gerard’s happy to watch him go, but even happier when he returns with a damp washcloth. Their hands bump into each other a few times as they both try to clean themselves up, and Gerard ducks his head to press his lips against Frank’s shoulder, collarbone. Finally, Frank tackles him back to the bed and pulls the covers up over both of their heads.

“You’re not going to freak out, are you?” he whispers. His face is indistinct in the relative darkness, but Gerard can see the tiny furrow between his eyebrows.

“Are you?”

“Fuck no. This was item number one on my Christmas list, dude,” Frank says fervently, and Gerard laughs.

“Mine too, but I thought I’d have to settle for the Lego Millennium Falcon replica.”

“Geek.”

“Kettle. I saw the Batman comics on your floor over there,” Gerard retorts.

“If you were paying attention to my floor, I was doing something wrong. Do I need to try again?” Frank’s leer is unmistakable, and Gerard leans over to kiss it off his face.

“Don’t forget, we’ve got all day.”

“Thank god for snow days,” Frank giggles.

“Ice days,” Gerard replies, till he’s rolled unceremoniously into the pillows, and further conversation becomes unnecessary in the wrestling match that follows. Gerard loses, but he figures it’s really in his best interest. Frank has the best ideas, anyway.

*


End file.
